Landslide
by Drown Me In Blue
Summary: Yumichika loves the sheer, beautiful brutality that is combat. It's simple, straightforward. He can fight, and he is beautiful. It is enough.


**Pairing: **_Ikkaku Madarame x Yumichika Ayasegawa_

**Music:** For Your Entertainment_, by Adam Lambert_

**Word count:** ~ 2200

**Rating:** M

* * *

_**Prompt 55: **__Landslide_

* * *

_**Now:**_

Their house is small and neat—beautiful, of course, because Yumichika wouldn't live anywhere that wasn't. It's also nicely private—something that Ikkaku insisted on—and few people bother them there.

Of course, there are a few people that they welcome, and when Yumichika steps through the garden gate one of them is perched on the steps, his head bent together with Ikkaku's. They look cozy, and Yumichika smiles faintly at the bald and orange heads all but smacking into one another. For all that he's a social creature, there are few who meet his standards for friendship; Kurosaki Ichigo is one of them, because he can hold his own against anyone he needs to but feels no need to constantly prove it.

At the sound of the gate swinging shut, both men look up. Ichigo nods a welcome, while Ikkaku grins, and they both rise.

"Thanks, Ikkaku," Ichigo says quietly. "Later, Yumichika." He nods once more, and then vanishes in a flicker of shunpo that leaves a faint afterimage behind.

"He's getting faster," Yumichika notes, raising a hand to shade his eyes as he tries to find some sign of the former substitute. "I didn't think he could, but someone beautiful like Ichigo will never run out of options. Right, Ikkaku?"

Ikkaku snorts, folding his arms. "Wouldn't know," he says flatly. "You're the beautiful one here, not me."

Yumichika smiles to himself. Ikkaku is beautiful, even if Yumichika will never tell him as much—the third seat values being a warrior far more than he does beauty. Nevertheless, he _is_ beautiful, even if Yumichika's the only one who will ever see it. Still smiling, he takes a seat on the stairs, where Ichigo had just been. "What did Seireitei's youngest captain want this time? More trouble in the paradise that is the Fifth Division?"

With a disgusted sigh, Ikkaku throws himself down on the steps. "Bastard's gone and fallen in _love_," he mutters. "With _Renji_. I'm as fond of Abarai as the next guy, but he's denser than a post. Ichigo'll have to dace the can-can naked in front of him just to get him to _notice_."

Yumichika laughs softly and leans back against his partner. "Sounds familiar, doesn't it?" he asks dryly.

Ikkaku huffs a short, surprised laugh. "I suppose so. Though you can't really compare it."

"Can't I?" Yumichika closes his eyes and turns his face to the sun. "You were quite the idiot back then. Not beautiful at all, really. I much prefer you the way you are now."

There's a moment of silence, and then the weight against his shoulder increases—Ikkaku leaning back fully against him. Long, lean, sword-calloused fingers reach up to stroke Yumichika's hair, a touch that might seem brusque to anyone else, but that Yumichika takes for what it is—a gesture of affection that Ikkaku doesn't share lightly. He's more the kind to strut and snark and snarl at any closeness. Only here, where the two of them are alone, does he let his softer side show.

It's beautiful, and Yumichika doesn't think he's ever loved anyone quite so much.

* * *

_**Then:**_

In this part of the Rukongai, there's no room for gentleness or soft emotions. Yumichika knows this. He's had first-hand experience.

Here, being beautiful is a death sentence.

The girls he was traveling with—they weren't his sisters. He didn't know them, barely even knew their names when brigands attacked them. They were all killed in the most horrible way, struck down and raped before they had their throats slit. The men who had done it had laughed at their struggles, enjoyed their cries. They'd also left Yumichika alive, a little boy cowering in the back of the camp.

_Too ugly_, one of the men spat at him as they left.

When he had finally climbed out of hiding, all Yumichika had known was that the only life he could remember was gone, torn to pieces and left to rot in a ransacked campsite. The women had been kind to a lost boy, and now they were dead.

The eldest, a pretty woman with long black hair, had loved feathers. They lay around her, a garish mockery of what she had been in life. Yumichika picked them up and folded them away inside his yukata.

"I will be beautiful," he told her, "more beautiful than any of you, and draw their eye. They'll never look at you, if I'm there."

And he is. He's beautiful, with clear skin and long, soft hair and slim, graceful limbs. People look at him first, no matter whom he's traveling with, and they don't often look away. It might be dangerous, or stupid, but Yumichika will never forget those perfect, lovely corpses scattered around a clearing.

He fights like he knows how. The first man to come after him dies with a sword in his gut and the words "Too ugly to live" ringing in his ears. Yumichika has no mercy for anyone who would try such a thing, and he loves the sheer, beautiful brutality that is combat—it's simple, straightforward in a way nothing has been in a very long time.

He can fight, and he is beautiful. It is enough.

Now he is a victim who will never _be_ a victim, drawing the eye and the blade.

It is not enough, but most days he can pretend that it is.

* * *

_**Now:**_

Yumichika cooks. He doesn't do it often, but when he does not even Ikkaku complains. There's only so much takeout one can stand, after all. They eat in silence, words superfluous after so much time, and the quiet lasts all the way up to the sunset, both of them back on the porch with Ikkaku's best sake.

The moon is on the rise by the time Ikkaku puts his cup down and sighs heavily. "You think it'll work out for them?" he asks, and Yumichika knows he's taking about Ichigo and Renji. They've both got a soft spot for the Fifth's captain after his invasion of Soul Society, and Renji used to serve with them. Once Eleventh Division, always Eleventh Division, Yumichika thinks, and smiles a little.

"Yes," he says honestly. "I think it will. Ichigo's persistent, and Renji might be obtuse to the point of unbeautiful, but he'll get a clue before too long."

Ikkaku simply grunts, but Yumichika hears the assent in it—Ikkaku will take him at his word. He usually does, where the subtler emotions are concerned. Yumichika is good at reading people, despite his narcissism, and Ikkaku trusts him. He has for years now, ever since their first meeting.

Their relationship is just what it is, nothing more and nothing less. Sometimes Yumichika thinks he would be just as happy with something completely platonic, because each can be what the other needs without any extra. They're friends, first and foremost, and Yumichika knows that even if they do eventually separate, the friendship they share will outlast the romance. Much the same as Renji and Ichigo's relationship, now that he considers it. And for the best, as well. They're warriors first, everything else second. Anything that can interfere in battle must be discarded.

This won't be, at least not yet. They've held on this long, Yumichika reasons, through the Rukongai and the Seireitei, traitorous captains and a full-on war, new captains and a new order.

They can outlast anything else, he's sure of it.

* * *

_**Then:**_

He's been cornered by a large group. Normally, this wouldn't even start him worrying, but this time Yumichika has been caught without an exit, his back to a cliff he won't be able to scale and more than a dozen thugs at his front. They're not beautiful at all, but they're so focused on him that they haven't noticed the escape of the group he was traveling with. That alone is enough to bring a smile to Yumichika's face, sharp and vicious. He's done enough for them, and now the fight is all for him.

"This is inevitable, I suppose. Ugly people are always jealous of pretty people. It's only natural," he taunts, the sword not quite trembling in his grip. He's not scared—not for himself, at least—but he still doesn't want to die at the hands of these uncouth, unwashed ruffians who look so like the men that tore his former life apart.

There's a low growl from the ranks, and one of the six men closes in. Yumichika knows that his first blow will have to count for everything, as that's when they'll all rush him, so he retreats right up against the precarious cliff face.

"Come on," the man says, one hand outstretched. "Just a bit of fun and then we'll be on our way. Wouldn't want to tear your pretty clothes, now, would you?"

There is a man approaching, someone Yumichika's never seen before, tall and bald and muscular in build. That doesn't mean much, though, as he's new to this area. Still, it tips Yumichika's odds from "slim chance of victory" to "no chance at all." He takes another half-step back until he's pressed flush against the rock and shakes his head.

"No," he tells the man. "I'd rather die a beautiful death of my own choosing and take you with me, than live and become ugly with your hands on me."

The cliff hangs over all of them, precarious and delicate. Yumichika doesn't have much control over his spiritual power—he's not a shinigami, after all—but a solid blast takes no finesse, just a single blow of his hand against the stone.

There is something beautiful about a landslide, Yumichika thinks, as the whole world comes tumbling down around him.

* * *

_**Now:**_

The last drop of sake spills onto Ikkaku's tongue and he sighs in satisfaction, then rises to his feet to stretch. "Come on, Yumi. Bed calls."

Yumichika graciously allows Ikkaku to give him a hand up and follows him inside. It's spring, so the doors and windows are all open, the breeze touched with roses and wisteria. Their bedroom isn't untouched by the scent, either, which makes Ikkaku wrinkle his nose and scoff about foolish romantic notions of summertime sex, and Yumichika laugh at him. He's still laughing when Ikkaku strips them both of their robes and topples them onto the futon. The laughter stops after that, because Ikkaku's kisses are deep and hot, and too good for him not to pay full attention. They slide together, hot skin against hot skin, scars like a map across both of their bodies.

"Do you remember?" Yumichika whispers as Ikkaku opens his body and slides inside. It burns in a good way, a sparring match between them that will never have a clear winner—nor do they want it to.

"Remember what, Yumi?" Ikkaku leans down over him to scrape teeth over his neck, where the marks will be covered by the orange collar that Yumichika wears. He's paying attention, but only just as he slides forward, taking what Yumichika will only ever give to him.

"The landslide." Yumichika closes his eyes and wraps his legs around Ikkaku's hips, urging him to move a little faster, a little harder. "What you called me."

Ikkaku simply grins at him, touches him with those ever-certain hands, and they fall over the edge together.

* * *

_**Then:**_

The first thing he is aware of is pain.

The second, darkness.

The third is a voice cursing at him, rocks moving, and then sunlight beats the darkness back. With its retreat comes a sharp, angular face. A man looks down on him, smudges of red marking the outer corners of his eyes, his head shaved or bald—the man Yumichika saw before, coming up behind the other man. There's a faint crease of worry between his brows, but when he sees Yumichika blinking up at him he breaks into a grin.

"There you are," he says in satisfaction. "Injured?"

Yumichika's fairly certain that his arm is broken, at the very least, but he shakes his head and answers, "Not enough to matter."

The answer seems to please the man, because he lets out a sharp bark of laughter and offers Yumichika a hand. "I was gonna step in when those cowards tried to jump you. Six on one, hah! Only a coward would fight like that! Come on, let's get you out of there."

It's painful, but Yumichika lets the man drag him to his feet, and then steadies himself with his sword when his legs threaten to give way. "Thank you," he tells the man.

The other just grins at him and wraps an arm around his shoulder—more support than friendliness, really, but Yumichika chooses to interpret it the other way. They're obviously both fighters, after all. "Madarame Ikkaku," he offers. "I'm looking for someone to challenge."

"Ayasegawa Yumichika," Yumichika returns. "As am I, so you're in good company."

Ikkaku chuckles and glances back at the effects of the landslide. Some of the attackers are stirring, but more are not. He claps Yumichika on the shoulder and says, "Looks like you're still beautiful, and they're mostly dead. Care to try again?"

It's the first time being called beautiful has ever been a good thing, and Yumichika laughs.

"All right," he agrees, and doesn't step away from Ikkaku's touch. "Lead on."


End file.
